The Agony and The Irony
by Frost Avery
Summary: The wind before the storm, . . .
1. Default Chapter

The ideas of this story, and the characters playing their roles, were inspired by the unmatched writing mastership of Brian Jacques.  
  
This is written for those who have ever wondered, . . .  
  
* * *  
  
Prologue: The Siege of Gounod  
  
"Give 'em what for, lads! C'mon!" Joshua Blackspine rolled another slain rat onto its back with the hardened shaft of his long spike while beckoning to the assortment of mice, shrews, hedgehogs, moles, and otters battling through the shallows of Vagrant Cove. Beyond the small cove lay a large sand dune, upon which stood the mighty fort of Gounod, home of Grouleau the Enforcer, a malevolent bobcat who threatened the goodbeasts of Mossflower with his merciless pilfering and massacres. After attacking the peaceful creatures of Redwall Abbey while their warriors were away, Grouleau and his dark horde returned to their craggy home to wallow in their victories. They did not, however, prepare for retaliation.  
  
The stoats and rats defending the shore did little to stop the onslaught; they were easily outnumbered many times over, and the bodies of the slain vermin bobbing in the bloodied waves continued to grow. The squirrel warrior Erika stole the life from an emaciated fox wielding a rusted ax with her double-edged scimitars, pausing briefly to catch her breath and overlook the battlefield, while her husband Ferrill wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his dirty hand. The cries of "Fur and Freeeedoooom!", "Redwaaaaaaaall!" and "Remember Saaaaaaaambeeeeeeell!" clashed with the painful screams of the wounded and fleeing vermin. Many of the vermin began to drop their weapons, frantically clawing back up the sandy dune from which they charged. Erika sidestepped a javelin aimed at her shoulder, grabbed the sling tied to her belt, and both twirled the stone at lightning speed and fired it towards her attacker. The weasel dropped where he stood, the stone buried in his left eye. Ferrill ran up to his wife, ripping a strand of cloth from his sleeve and tying it firmly about her right arm.  
  
"Sorry I doan have th' 'pecial herbs f' the pain, m'precious," he said, finishing the field dressing and planting a quick peck upon her head.  
  
"Don't you worry about me, Ferrill Cedartail," Erika scolded, fetching another stone into her sling. "There's plenty more bad'uns to be slain today."  
  
Joshua approached the pair, clearing his throat quickly as he leaned upon his spike. "Pardon, folks, but-Miz Erika, you don't need to fight anymore today. We've already scaled the walls of Gounod, and with your wound and all-"  
  
Ferrill grimaced as the fire behind Erika's eyes exploded. "My wound? My WOUND?! I'll have you know, Joshua Blackspine, that I've had worse'n THIS when I've been out pickin' apples by the Abbey! Wound indeed! The very notion is, . . . is, . . . well, it's ludicrous, that's what it is!" She grabbed hold of the hilts of her scimitars, growling in anger.  
  
The sudden cry of "Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" caused the trio to jolt and quickly whirl around, weapons drawn. The badger lord Enderwhyn, dressed in full battle armor and wielding his notorious broadsword Avenger, tore up the dune in long strides, roaring his battle cry as he led several battalions of his finest hares up to the fort. Herdon Foremole and his moles had already knocked a great hole in the wall, allowing the Redwallers, the shrews, Skipper and his otters, and the army of Salamandastron easy access to the heart of Gounod. Great plumes of smoke rose from many of the buildings inside as the cries of the heroes echoed across the beach. One of the hares hopped out of his regiment, his dark gray military jacket blowing in the wind, causing the numerous brass and silver medals to clank against each other in an odd noise. He stood at attention, pounding a fist against his breast in a salute.  
  
"Brigadier General Penton Wallaby Reswollan Damponshire Verstinathe the Third, at your presence, sah!"  
  
Joshua returned the salute as best he could emulate. "Yes, General . . ."  
  
"The men call me General Pent, sah!"  
  
"Ah, of course, General Pent. Well, I must thank you and Lord Enderwhyn for your timely arrival."  
  
"Nothin' doin', sah, if you don't mind me saying so, sah. Apologize for our tardiness; would've been on time, sah, but we had a few ruffians decide to sleep in. Had to make triple-time to get here, sah."  
  
The trio attempted to stifle their chuckles. "Well, we're all glad you're here, General," Erika responded.  
  
"Our pleasure, miss," Pent nodded.  
  
The young otter Baran hopped out of the hole in the wall, shouting towards the group. "Father Joshua, come quickly! We've found something important! Come quickly, Father!"  
  
Joshua, Erika, Ferrill, and General Pent sprinted towards the youth without hesitation. "Wha' is it, Master Bar'n?" Ferrill asked hurriedly.  
  
"We found this over by some old medicines," Baran continued, leading the group through the gaping breech and into the courtyard of Gounod. The same carnage from the beachhead greeted the group as they walked through the sparse ruins of a great fort. Vermin and woodlanders alike lay slain across the landscape, their corpses lit by the great fires burning the remaining structures. The body of the former Grouleau lay heaped upon a pile of dead vermin, his corpse erupting with spears, staves, arrows, and other weapons. Near a great pile of dried herbs and grasses, several creatures were bent over a small object. As they grew closer, Lord Enderwhyn rose from his crouched position to face the group. His armor was decorated with sprays of blood, but he appeared healthy. He held out a collection of bound, brown-paged parchments to Joshua. Pent stood at attention, saluting to his lord.  
  
"Perimeter checked, sah-report of vermin, negative. Seems we slayed 'em all, sah."  
  
The badger lord smiled. "Well done, General Pent. At ease."  
  
"Very good, sah," Pent saluted again.  
  
Enderwhyn turned his attention to Joshua. "I'm afraid I cannot read this language-it's not similar to anything I've read before, or ever seen."  
  
The book was light in weight, bound with four thick, black chords of a strange cloth, and carried with it a strange aroma that reminded Joshua of sweet flowers and the scent of death. He peeled back the cover, staring at the strange characters covering the page for what seemed like ages. The goodbeasts surrounding the hedgehog nervously twisted their fingers and tapped their foot paws until he inhaled deeply.  
  
"I recognize this writing now. I've seen it once before, far from the shores of Mossflower. The language and script are that of Canis Lupis."  
  
"W-what's that, Father Joshua?" piped Baran nervously.  
  
"It's the writings of wolves," Joshua said gravely. Ferrill put an arm around his wife's shoulder as she flexed her right paw in agitation. Joshua turned back to the ancient, stained parchment, reading aloud the first page lit by the ravenous fires eating away the evil fort.  
  
"Behold the writings of Ahira, the princess of Kir Hareseth, ruler of the isle of Undegro, and the happenings of Citius Gadare and the crew of the Agony during the seasons of desolation, . . ." 


	2. The Cost of Loyalty

Chapter I  
  
The Cost of Loyalty  
  
The wolf Mavik sat alone, the only occupant in the left corner of the tavern Hedak. His head was raised, his eyes alert, dancing from creature to creature as the remaining inhabitants-an odd conglomerate of sea-bound vermin-cackled and choked on their brimming tankards of Eel lager and Spinecrab whiskey while roaring out tall-tales of gargantuan monsters inhabiting the farthest reaches of the oceans. Mavik's ears bounced once, after hearing a severely intoxicated turtle spout a huge monologue concerning the hidden atoll of Alaesia-but after a few minutes of half- interested listening, the wolf knew the shellback knew nothing of what he was rambling about. Mavik had been there, . . . long before he sat at this uncomfortable table. Alaesia wasn't renowned for it's beautiful landscape; instead, the violent volcano erupted often enough to destroy any life that happened upon its legendary shores. Rumor from a pair of twin albino ferrets had brought Mavik to Alaesia in search of the Vindago Crag, a dark jewel overflowing with malevolent power. None had ever seen the jewel, but the ancients' writings depicted an object of reality-something to be found.  
  
"Y'look busy, mate," a strange ferret said, tossing a tightly bound bag of traveling items onto the floor next to Mavik. The wolf blinked once, slowly, and moved only his eyes towards the stranger.  
  
"Yet you bother me. Why?"  
  
"Y'seem t'be the type I'm lookin' for, graypelt."  
  
A spark flew across the wolf's eyes, and their color deepened. The ferret had only time to smirk as the wolf buried the curved blade of his exotic stiletto into his paw, nailing it to the dirty table below. The crash of the blow roared like a clap of thunder, and all conversations in the tavern halted. The wolf growled severely.  
  
"The last breath you'll ever take will be the one to repeat the slur!" he barked, jerking the blade from the wounded hand with a twist of his wrist. With a fold of his hand, the stiletto returned to its resting spot, buried deep within the dark confines of the traveling cloak he wore wrapped about his brawny frame.  
  
"Your insolence is impressive," the ferret responded, tying a faded bandana around the bleeding gash. "Though your skills 'n speed seem t'be more th'n what we'll need."  
  
Mavik raised a puzzled eyebrow, yet focused on the other inhabitants, who'd returned to their feasting and hollering. The ferret's eyes grew wider, and he cleared his throat as he continued.  
  
"We, a'course, bein' the ship 'n crew of the Agony-forty rats, fifteen foxes, three vixens, eleven stoats, and twenty ferrets, not countin' m'self, of course." When the wolf continued to remain uninterested, the ferret thrust out his chest, chuckling. "Why, I'm Captain Citius Vogrel Gadare, the vilest mammal t'ever tempt the waters!"  
  
Mavik seized Gadare's bleeding paw, crushing the wounded limb until the ferret gasped. He leaned forwards menacingly, his red eyes burning in the hot candlelight.  
  
"Tell me something I want to hear, and I'll spare your neck," he snarled.  
  
The tavern suddenly teamed with life, as creatures large and small whirled towards Mavik, their crude weapons drawn, faces twisted in sneers and smirks. Gadare chuckled, his forehead covered in beads of sweat.  
  
"Release my paw, graypelt."  
  
Mavik's eyes flashed in rage. The stiletto emerged from its hiding spot, intent on burying itself within the vermin's heart. A well-aimed blade deflected the knife at the last possible moment, the stiletto tearing a single hair from Gadare's chest. The wolf's right eye sought out the perpetrator responsible for sparing the ferret's life. A female ferret, dressed in dark navy garb, winked at him with a yellow eye. Her long, auburn hair flowed down her left shoulder, halting just above the dip of her neck like a crimson wave. A flash of movement to his left caused Mavik to whirl about again to see an odd, muscled creature wrench the blade from his hand and bury it into the table between his fingers.  
  
"Drop ze paw, herr volf, or lose your own!" the creature barked.  
  
Mavik uncurled his massive fingers from about the sea captain's broken paw, cocking his head to the side as he viewed the strange animal amid the blades pointed towards him.  
  
"I see you've taken interest in Kerjack," Gadare spoke, as an elderly stoat saw to healing and re-bandaging the broken paw. "Not many creatures have seen the likes a' him, . . . nor should you, I suppose."  
  
"Ve raccoons alvays frighten our enemies," Kerjack uttered, his black eyes darting to and fro behind the ebony mask of dark fur surrounding them. He leaned in close to Mavik's face, baring his stained teeth. "Und you are quite frightened."  
  
"No," Mavik said calmly, "I've never seen one of your kind alive before." With a quick thrust of his sinewy legs, Mavik sent Kerjack sprawling across the tavern, overturning tables, and whacking the contents free of their goblets. An enormous roar of laughter bellowed from the other diners, many of whom saluted Mavik with their tankards and berated the fallen raccoon. Mavik grinned at the fallen Kerjack, but halted when he felt the prick of a blade tip rest against his neck. The female ferret nodded towards the wolf.  
  
"Slay 'em here, Cap'n?" she asked in a raspy voice, eyeing Mavik evilly.  
  
"No, Raspira," Gadare returned, lowering her blade with his good paw. "Give me a moment with 'im." The remaining creatures backed away a few paces, weapons still drawn. Gadare reset the chair Mavik had knocked over, straddling it as he faced the wolf.  
  
"Listen t' my words," he continued. "I am at war with an opponent of mine- he calls 'imself Gabool the Wild. His murderous band killed 'undreds of our number; we are all that's left. I am raisin' an army t' rival and destroy his own. I need a creature of y'-caliber, shall we say-t' help me."  
  
Mavik downed the last murky contents of his chipped mug, pushing away from the table and rising on his feet. "I'm not interested," he sneered.  
  
"P'haps this'll 'elp, maybe?" Gadare tossed a small, rough bag onto the table before the wolf. He snatched it quickly, jerking the chord from the top and pouring its contents into his palm. Twelve gold florin greeted his eyes; each was stamped with a fang and dagger, and the phrase audaces fortuna iuvat-fortune helps the bold. Mavik shook them in his hand, testing their weight, before returning them to the bag and slipping it between the folds in his cloak. He turned back to Gadare, an evil smile twisting across his maw.  
  
"I expect a score of these each season," he replied.  
  
"A hefty sum!" Raspira snarled, her hand gripping the hilt of her blade.  
  
"It'll be there," Gadare nodded. "Welcome t' th' Agony, mate! We'll need a name for you, of course-"  
  
"They refer to me as Mavik."  
  
"A'course, Mavik," Gadare nodded, smiling. He abruptly struck the wolf twice across the face, drawing a fresh line of blood from the wolf's nose. He hovered a finger from his good paw in front of his face, speaking in a serious tone. "That's for hittin' m' first mate, an' for m'paw. Don' ever touch me again, graypelt." He turned and nodded to Raspira. "Load 'em aboard, sister. We depart at dusk."  
  
Mavik licked off the blood running from his nose, his eyes fixed on the ferret captain as his party left the tavern. A quick, painless death would not suffice for Citius Vogrel Gadare . . . . 


End file.
